Letter from John Winkelman to John G. Neihardt, February 13, 1964

Title: Letter from John Winkelman to John G. Neihardt, February 13, 1964
Date: February 13, 1964
Author(s): Winkelman, John
Recipient: Neihardt, John Gneisenau, 1881-1973
TEI XML: nei.n1a.4.8-10.xml

7 Cyprus Drive Kitchener, Ontario, Canada February 13, 1964 Dear Dr. Neihardt,

I thought you might be interested in this little stunt indicated on the back of this sheet. I have a course in German lyric poetry, a most fascinating course for me and the students, in which I try to educate them to an understanding of poetry, with great success. In this sheet, which I handed out, are a poem by Holderlin and a second version which I concocted. The students were to write an essay explaining why each and every one of my changes is an abomination to the muses. I haven't read all the essays yet, but the ones I have are excellent.

Do you know Hölderin? He is not so well known as Goethe and so on but he should be. He was always unstable emotionally and had periodic lapses into insanity from 1802 on, finally going irrevocably mad in 1806 and vegetabling in hopeless schizophrenia for 37 years until his death in 1843. Gifted with an incredibly delicate sense of poetic values, he wrote symbolist poems long before such a thing had ever been invented.

In this particular poem, written during the period when he was desperately fighting to keep his sanity, he expresses his dread in a most poignant way. Stanza One, as you will see, is a love song to life in all its lush fulness; Stanza two foresees his bleak future. Every word, every positioning of every word, is exquisitely right. The students were to discover that for themselves.

For me it was difficult to shake off the effect of all those years when I was for the most part a language-searching hack. I was scared. I didn't know whether I still could. For a while I couldn't. Then I snapped out of it and experienced a wonderful release.

Phyllis is still awfully unhappy in what for her is a bleak exile. Children gone, job gone, and native country gone. That of course affects me deeply to and added a millstone to the lead weights already around my neck. She clearly can't stand it forever and neither can I. So I went to the Modern Language Association convention in December, spreading the word of my availability, and wrote letters to several universities. So far nothing doing. If I can't get a good position I may just have to settle for a poor one in order to get Phyllis back in the states. After all, I'll be 53 in May and that is a bit old. I may have to say, as Hölderin has it in another form to the effect that he won't mind dying if he can for once achieve a perfect poem: Einmal lebt 'ich wie Götter, und mehr [bedorf's?] nicht (For once I lived like the gods, and more I do not need.)

I hope you're keeping well. Too bad you had to postpone your trip to India - too bad for the Indians, that is.

Yours, John Winkelman

UNIVERSITY OF WATERLOO
WATERLOO, ONTARIO, CANADA

Winkelman

KITCHENER 4 PM FEB 13 1964 ONTARIO 5 CANADA 5 CANADA
WHY WAIT FOR SPRING DO IT NOW!

Airmail

ansd

Dr. John G. Neihardt Sky-rim Farm R.R.7 Columbia, Missouri USA

"Halfte des Lebens" wie es Holderlin geschrieben hat. Mit gelben Birnen hanget und voll mit wilden Rosen Das Land in den See, Ihr holden Schwane, Und trunken von Kussen Tunkt ihr das Haupt Ins heilignuchterne Wasser. Weh mir, no nehm ich, wenn Es Winter ist, die Blumen, und wo Den Sonnenschein Und Schatten der Erde? Die Mauern stehn Sprachlos und kalt, im Winde Klirren die Fahnen. "Halfte des Lebens" wie es Holderlin nicht geschrieben hat. Mit roten Aepfeln Und bedeckt mit wilden Rosen Spiegelt sich das Dand in dem See, Ihr sussen Schwane, Und betaubt von Kussen Taucht ihr den Kopf Ins silberklare Wasser. Ach, wo find ich noch Blumen Wenn der Winter kommt, und wo Den Sonneschein Und Schatten der Erde? Sprachlos und kalt Stehen die Mauern, die Fahnen Klirren im Winde.

Stellen sie Schritt fur Schritt den urspunglichen Wortlaut wieder her, indem Sie ausfuhrlich erklaren, warum Holderlin es so und nicht anders gewollt hat.

Literally: One Half of Life With yellow pears hangs And full with wild roses The land into the lake, Ye sublime swans, And drunk with kisses Ye submerge your heads Into the holy-sober water. Woe to me, whence shall I take, when It is winter, the flowers, and whence The sunshine And shadow of earth? The walls stand Speechless and cold, in the wind The weathercocks clatter. (the same, as murdered) With red apples And covered with wild roses The land is reflected in the lake, Ye sweet swans, and benumbed with kisses Ye submerge your heads Into the silver-clear water. Alas, where shall I still find flowers When winter comes, and where The sunshine And shadow of earth? Speechless and cold Stand the walls, the weathercocks Clatter in the wind.